Hanging By A Moment
by Chandrakantya
Summary: It starts fairly innocent at first, just the faintest brush of Leo's lips against his cheek. He doesn't even notice it, but Casey does, and the blush has reached his ears by the time the feeling's gone. Or – five times Leo kissed Casey, and one time Casey kissed him back.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Happy **_**VERY**_** Late New Year! I wish you all a wonderful, fulfilling year; you deserve it!^^**

**I wasn't feeling confident or pleased with my writing style and my writing, in general, at all lately, probably because of anxiety – undiagnosed since those around me don't believe anxiety is a thing that's real **_***long sigh***_** Luckily, I have rarepairs to cheer me up XD**

**Warnings: Some Language, Probably OOC, Too Self-Indulgent, Idiots Boys Falling In Love, Terribly Long Prose (my philologist is shaking in their grave, but I'm sucker for long sentences; they're my stress reliever.)**

**Hope I can update it more regularly than my other fics! (**_**hah**_**) XD**

* * *

"**Hanging By A Moment."**

**It starts fairly innocent at first, just the faintest brush of Leo's lips against his cheek. He doesn't even notice it, but Casey does, and the blush has reached his ears by the time the feeling's gone. Or – five times Leo kissed Casey, and one time Casey kissed him back.**

* * *

_I'm livin' for the only thing I know  
I'm running here and I'm not quite sure  
Where to go?  
And down I know I'd like to be in tune  
Just hanging by a moment here with you  
I'm falling even more in love with you  
Letting go of all I've held onto  
I'm standing here until you make me move  
I'm hanging by a moment here with you_

* * *

It starts fairly innocent at first, just the faintest brush of Leo's lips against his cheek. He doesn't even notice it, but Casey does, and the blush has reached his ears by the time the feeling's gone.

The night is cold and heavy, even heavier and thicker down in the lair, but Casey doesn't mind it, accepts the coughing ambiance that takes place and camps in his lungs.

It's better down here, besides. The air is harder, but at least, it's there, giving him the chance to inhale and exhale and feel alive in his bones.

When he's at home, it's almost as if he can't breathe.

He has found a cozy corner at the small kitchen and reads his old manga with a forgotten gum still lingering thoughtlessly in his mouth, while he half-listens to Leo and Raph talk over in mellow, quiet voices.

It's not normal – the soft silence that surrounds them these days – not normal and certainly not rightly-deserved. It makes Casey's heart ache for them, beat slower and sadder against his chest.

The rhythm of it, though, doesn't stay like this, picks up very quickly, very unintentionally, and very pleasantly, as Leo scoots beside him to catch a towel that's hanging on the chair, his breath hovering next to his cheek and his lips, barely there, graze his skin softly.

Something deep in his chest clenches and flutters, almost like a bird in a cage – and Casey bits his lip, lifts his manga higher to hide cowardly the red color that faintly adorns his face, a tiny blushing cloud over his expression but most surely there, if someone's paid attention enough to notice.

But Leo doesn't notice it, continues his low talk with Raph as if nothing has happened – and nothing _has_ really happened, honestly. It's one of those things, which happen in accident and don't really matter – because it's really stupid of him to begin overthinking in the middle of the night – a _Friday, chillax_ night – when it's no good worth.

Casey shakes his head, takes a sip of the root beer he holds in his hand and swallows hard enough to push away the excited lump that has decided to start dancing around his throat.

But he can't push it off of his chest – there's already a footprint of that prominent feeling on his heart, one he had only felt on the fingers that turned the pages of his shōjo manga– and _that_ is only the beginning.

* * *

The second time it happens, it's almost as unexpected as the first one.

"_Movie time_!" Michelangelo has announced with a mouthful of popcorns, and the oversized blankets that he brings to throw and huddle all of them under feel a bit too much like Casey's mom's warm hugs, that always left him full and complete and too okay.

The scent of popcorns and sewer mingles in his nose in a strange feat of odd familiarity that he seems he can only find here – thinks that if he had decided to stay home, he would, sincerely, miss it – the slow way everything falls into place in a perfect manner of a genuine puzzle he never had the chance to acquire.

"I'm glad you came," the whisper comes from his left and he turns his head to meet Leo's bright eyes, big and endless as they grace his face and stare thrillingly into his like he's the only person in the room.

The feeling's too much – whether it's their close, _so close_ proximity, the warmth that radiates from the fluffy blankets or the coolness that seeps from Leo's smooth flesh as it's pressed against his bare arm – or perhaps the whole concept, which is sadly unbelievable for him to wrap his mind around it;

The fact that the turtles – his friends – _his family_ – would unquestionably welcome him and cater him in their arms no matter what time or day it is, fierce and quiet, no doubt, no hesitation whatsoever, no questions asked – as if he truly deserves this.

"You'd miss me, otherwise, dudes, wouldn't you?" he whispers back instead, because it's not easy for him to articulate all the emotions that constantly run through his veins like a much-need poison – but he hardens his eyes, tries to make it up with some sort of silent communication that he feels is sufficient enough.

Luckily, Leo is great at this – the things spoken in silence – knows when he's supposed to leave the quietness talk – so, he simply smiles, sheepishly and pleased, and nods with eyes, again too big – too big for his face, his age.

The sight is too lovely, even for Casey, who wants to appreciate with every little bit of his heart anything wonderful he finds with the corner of his vision, and he tears off his eyes and glues them to the screen, lets the noises of the movie and gibberish messes of the brothers – _his brothers_ – chatting fill his ears.

Because, sometimes, quietness can be a bit scary, too.

And it's when the film is nearing its happy end, that Leo chuckles, fondly, softly, and whole-heartedly – a sound torn between a _We need this happy ending_ or _We won't get this happy ending_ or a weird combination of both – and presses briefly his still tremblingly laughing mouth on Casey's neck.

Casey gulps, and he's not sure if it's from surprise or embarrassment – but the pulse races hard against his throat, making his blood pump fast.

And as if this wasn't enough, as if this fleeting touch didn't give him enough content to pour his mind over in hot, confusing drops – Leo speaks up again, truly _earnestly_, in between everyone's jeers, so close to his ear that the words tickle his nape and the insides of his heart, "You're right. I would miss you."

He can't help but snort nervously, a short breath that gets stuck in his nose momentarily and then, thankfully leaves easily enough, because he is putting way much thought on this – all these stuff that is most probably another kind of family thing he yet _again_ doesn't understand, a space between family love and romantic love he hasn't learned how to separate from one another, because he was never taught either of them.

It's weird – and kind of pathetic, in some ways, how the outcasts, the antisocially heroic creatures that live below the world seem to know more about the world and the relationships that are like orbits around it than him.

But – it's not as if he doesn't know shit – he knows _this_ is not something to pinpoint, it's not a blossoming, twirling feeling that is soaring inside him and there to stay – it's just –

It's just _a thing_ that slightly baffles him and enraptures him, too – for a lot of unknowingly complicated reasons, and mostly because – who could have thought Leo would feel _so_ comfortable – and Casey would be _that_ worth it – to provide unconsciously, _primarily platonic_ smooches in sewers that smell like stale farts?

But, it's not like Casey stays up late at night thinking about him, he muses and laughs under his breath, a noise that turns into loving chokes when Raph drags him into a good-natured headlock and grins.

* * *

And during that night, Casey is bundled up between his puffy sheets, brain all drained out after working on the paper he didn't finish, eyes tired – because of the studying, or, more possibly, because of his rejection of prescription of glasses – and yet, still wide awake.

He stares at his ceiling, where the stars he had glued with his little sister are bright – so _familiar_ – and lets his eyes close slowly, under the warmth of his bed and the blue light shining.

He thinks of the last few years, the hardships that have shaken him and his family like a hurricane, bending them in ways that they could have been broken – but _didn't_, the deaths that came upon them and left shadows of grief cast around them and haunt them for the times to come, the small moments that kept them close and bonded and proved people wrong – because his father was a person in the manner it mattered – but a monster – and his now new-found, holy family is a bunch of odd little treasures – freaks but not monsters.

He thinks of Mikey, how he is always grinning when he sees him, and feeds him even when he says he's not hungry, because, somehow, he knows he is; he thinks of Donnie, who stayed up late hundreds of nights, along with coffee, energy drinks, pencils and soft-spoken, encouraging words, just so Casey could pass the class and graduate – because his genius of a _brother_ believed so;

He thinks of Raph, who has been on his side since the start, not giving up on him on each bump they faced because their friendship meant too much and was too much strong – and was so much more, built on the foundation of purely equal devotion, that nothing could ever ruin it, rip the seams apart.

And he thinks of Leo, self-assured and sincerely serene – who works so hard to so perfect, gives so much of himself to others, because he wants to, cradles the world in his hands with the utmost care in the universe – who has no idea that he is the most decent and strong person to arise, a combination of wonders, being a total badassery in front of Casey, katanas blazing, while still making him hot chocolate in the cold aftermaths and blowing Casey's tongue with his tingling, tea-scented breath when it got burnt.

But, he doesn't want to think about this – _him_ – knows what happens when you get too close – has seen it happen on his father's face gradually. It's terrifying to hold such sentiments, when you can't identify the whole air around them – a tower of Pisa-like emotion.

He is going to sleep.

Yet, he shuts his eyes even tighter, and the image that fills his mind is still his. He's looking at him from a blanket too big for him and the TV light in the darkness makes his face a mixture of watercolors flashing, a soft smile playing on his lips, and Casey's sitting next to him, knee pressed to his.

And he tells him he is happy Casey is there – happy because of him – and that he would miss him, he, on his own, a confession that touches his heart like a caress of a leaf, because it's from him, Leo, who is so close to him, so unexpected, and his blue eyes are so adorably truthful, whom he thought wouldn't stay awake all night thinking of – but now he is anyway –

And the gap between them – literal and metaphorical – in his fantasy and in reality – is narrow enough that it feels it would be just as natural as breathing for him to lean forward so he can ki –

Casey opens his eyes fast, stares at the ceiling and groans beneath his sheets.

Rubbing his hands all over his face, he swears with feeling and shakes his head. "Oh, _shit_."

* * *

**A/N: Oh god, this is so stupid, sorry. ;;u;;**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I'm going on a trip for about a month and while I will be able to check different stories, I won't have the time to actually write. So, I thought to give you something to read! XD**

**Also, I wrote this chapter listening to **_**Kiss Me**_** by **_**Sixpence None The Richer**_** on an endless loop, along with a bunch of other nostalgic songs, and I actually feel like I'm in a good mood! ;D**

* * *

"**Hanging By A Moment."**

**It starts fairly innocent at first, just the faintest brush of Leo's lips against his cheek. He doesn't even notice it, but Casey does, and the blush has reached his ears by the time the feeling's gone. Or – five times Leo kissed Casey, and one time Casey kissed him back.**

* * *

_I'm livin' for the only thing I know  
I'm running here and I'm not quite sure  
Where to go?  
And down I know I'd like to be in tune  
Just hanging by a moment here with you  
I'm falling even more in love with you  
Letting go of all I've held onto  
I'm standing here until you make me move  
I'm hanging by a moment here with you_

* * *

"Now," Leo starts, giving him a rag, "take this and try to clean them as good as you can," he instructs in that leader voice of him, but Casey can recognize the hint of playful allure in his tone and smirks.

He takes the rag in his hand quickly, before his fingers can linger on Leo's hand for longer than it'd be appropriate. It's a day off – more like, Casey overslept and missed his first four classes, so what's the point, _anyway_ – and while he could be hanging out on the topside with the sun blazing his skin, he is down here, on the dojo wiping weapons as Leo brushes the tatamis.

His hands are red, raw, and dirtily prickled from all the effort and he can't help but wonder why they're the only ones here, spring cleaning the dojo. "The others won't help?"

He probably says something wrong, because Leo ceases his motions, neck tensing. His features relent as he tosses a glance towards Splinter's old room before sighing. The next sounds out of his mouth are words uncertainly soft, making Casey's throat close, "T – they don't like staying here more than they should."

He looks around, expectantly bashful, like he's waiting for some divine force to save him from the awkward position he is into – or make him feel better for this situation with a caress and the faintest peck of lips.

Casey doesn't want many things – but in the silence and green light of the dojo, where the pipes from above pump with water like his veins with blood, the guys sip coffee and energy drinks in the kitchen, pretending they can't understand and Leo stands in front of him, looking at him with an apologetic gaze – he wants to be this thing for him, _so much_.

And he wants to say something, too – he wishes he could find the right words to express what he feels – and with Leo staring at him like that, he almost feels confident enough to do so – almost, because he doesn't.

It's scary – to know, finally, what to say, but not knowing _why_ you want to. Because, sometimes, Casey doesn't know why he wants to say the things he imagines, or why he does the things he does. Sometimes, he doesn't feel the need to tell Leo anything, sometimes he wants to scream at him – on top of his lungs – about how he plans to stay and stick by their side and by _his_ side forever, and other times, the thought of saying that scares him.

He doesn't know why Leo makes him feel this way – unlike any other mindless, pure crush he's had. Maybe it's because it's his first _guy_ crush – or his first _mutant turtle guy_ crush.

Maybe it's because, deep down, he knows it's more than a simple crush – and more than a crush means shattering, destroying and leaving – and Casey's tired of abandoning ruining things.

Leo shakes his head a bit, biting his lip and leaves his broom down to kneel in front of him. "Sorry, Casey," he says, pronouncing his name so much like taffy on his tongue that it makes Casey's arms shiver. "It's just been a long week."

The smile he offers him is tentative on the mouth, but nonetheless genuine and fond. It makes him look younger – makes him look his age.

Casey smiles back, childlike glow gleaming in his eyes. "Leo?"

He lifts an eyebrow, "What?" _I wonder if we think of each other at the same time._

"It's Tuesday."

And Leo's smile splits into a lovely grin of warm exasperation as he huffs a laugh behind his hand – it's a rare, fleeting image, which Casey's mind snaps into his memory like a photograph and swears to do all that he can to see it again and again.

They finish cleaning reminiscing old stories that fill the space with giggles and their hearts with warmth.

"– and then, I knocked him out with a –"

"I thought _Raph_ knocked him out," Leo interrupts, with raising eyebrows and a grin trembling on the edges of his lips that blows into laughter one more time as Casey shrugs, "I've heard it both ways."

Leo leans against him for support as they quiver next to the tree and his beak gently touches his cheek.

And perhaps it's the whole ambiance they've created around them, or the fact that their bond feels so easy – to both of them – easy and not confusing or forced or overbearing at all – that Casey doesn't flinch or scrunches in awkwardness, but instead a smile graces his mouth as he actually meets Leo's blue eyes.

And if he wasn't drifting inside of them, he would have noticed Leo's unsurely wrinkled forehead softening, but the only thing he pays attention to is how beautiful Leo's eyes are when they shine, brightly and confidently.

It's the third time it's happened – and Casey didn't know he was counting – but now, it's silly to think he wouldn't.

* * *

"How do you do that?" One of his brand new college teammates asks in the library – huh, _library_; who'da thunk? – as they all watch Casey do a full rotation of his arm. He smirks.

"Man, Jones, got no bones or something?"

Attention is not something he's used to, so he savors his friends' comments as he continues to flaunt and show off, just a bit. He proceeds to full arm rotate both of his arms – not just in stretching, but completely, as if he has no skeleton and his skin is gooey, and the hockey team cheers around him.

"C'mon dude, _how_?" The short one with the red hair – Brandon? _Brendon_? – asks with a huge ass grin and the others around him sneer and mop his curly hair with playful hands; he's the baby of the team, even though they're all the same age.

It reminds Casey of Mikey and that makes him feel like home.

It's strange for him – to see that he has close people all around him. It often makes him snicker, or cry, or both – and something really urges him to take April's invitation to move in together in her dorm. She needs a roommate and he needs his April.

But he can't let his sister. She needs him, too.

"Well, someone taught me," Casey says around a smug grin, and remembers the day Leo was teaching him.

_It's gonna help you so much with the stick_, he had said with a dreamy expression and backpedaled with a very quietly adorable, _Okay, that sounded a little bit stupid, but the offer still stands_. And Casey did agree that it sounded in fact, just a little bit stupid, but it was also so truly _thoughtful_ of him that Casey could not give an absolute flying fuck about its stupidity.

"Who?"

_My brother, Leo, _he has on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows it, because the term doesn't feel all too right. "A friend," he settles for instead and his friends' smiles stretch wider.

"Hmm, a _friend_? I know what kinda friend you mean."

Their table shakes with laughter and whistles, and Casey rolls his eyes, cheeks colored a faint red. "Nah, it's not like that. He's –" he starts and stops abruptly, heart dropping roundly in his stomach as the crowd around him stills and stares.

"_He_?" Brendon says, with an unreadable expression and Old Hob besides him, team's first member and unclaimed mother hen of the group clears his throat.

Casey braces himself with an uncertain sip of his root beer, grunts lightly to appear collectedly cool. He _knew_ he was weird, surely, on thin fucking hockey ice – it was too _good_ to be true – and now, he's unmoved like a statue.

"Damn," Hob finally exclaims, leveling him a look under his cap and dreadlocks and the others around him nod furiously, lips pressed.

_There goes the ice_, Casey thinks, before he continues, his pair of brown eyes glinting with an impish delight and a malicious sneer creeps onto his lips, "Even Jones'll get a fucking boyfriend 'fore us."

The table rests in silence till Casey can't hold it anymore, exhales loudly, _burps_, and then, gawks uncontrollably, unable to keep a straight face, and beguiles the rest of the team in intense yells and jeers and good-natured calls – that stop once Casey feels a hand on his shoulder.

"_Oh_, he will?" He turns his face and meets April's incredulously taunting grin and arched eyebrow in question as she nudges him with her elbow and takes him by the hand to drag him around the hallways.

"Didn't know you and Leo were getting it _on_," she whispers dryly, feigning uninterested, but her blue reporter's eyes are knowing and Casey's breath hitches.

"Fucking dammit, April," he curses and she tightens her hold on his arm, stifling theatrically girlish giggles.

* * *

"How did ya know?" He asks her over the phone, later that night, fingers fidgeting.

Her voice is oddly comforting, but there's a sharply larky edge to it. "It's this thing I do sometimes when other people talk – _listening_. I know, _revolutionary_. You should try it sometime," she snorts and he responds back with an equally entertained huff. He likes to imagine one of her red eyebrows is raised sardonically on her forehead, accompanied with freckles.

And he guesses her face is set in a deadpan when she speaks up in the phone again, "Oh, also, I'm a psychic, you _moron_."

"Shit," he says in a tone barely below a whisper, since his little sister's sleepy head is resting on his shoulder. His muscles ache, but he likes and needs the feel and weight of his sister's head on him too much to say something – it's in moments like this he truly thinks he understands, Leo's burden. The hand that fingers her hair pauses when April clears her throat again.

"How did _you_ know?" she inquires, softly.

"Uh," Casey searches and wonders where his ability to speak has traveled to.

He doesn't have the answer to this – guesses he'll probably never have it – but his clock is ticking midnight, his ceiling stars glow, his sister's breaths smell like pumpkin and fairy toothpaste mingled together, his sneakers are untied – and the image he sees beneath his eyelids when they close, is Leo kneeling down with an affectionate simper and rolled eyes to tie his laces. – As if, his life is tied with his, irreversibly.

Now, in the quietness of the room, that kind of future doesn't seem or feel overwhelming and absurd – but just another natural step take – if Leo gives him his hand. Can April's powers figure out Leo's feelings, too? Should he ask? Is that why April is talking to him, now? Does she know?

His mouth finally works and his chest feels at ease and relieved and full altogether when he snickers and doesn't waver, yawing, "He's my Prince Charming."

And April's insanely loud and funny cackles, along with cheeky and loving remarks, such as, _Okay, Cinderella_, and _You always had a thing for blue eyes_, or _I love you, Case, really_, are the last things he hears before falling asleep.

* * *

In the snowy nights of November, they stay together – Leo and him – cuddled on rooftops, wrapped with scarfs and beanies and thick coats that battle the cold with their swift textures.

It's one of those rare times, which are starting to become as common as New York City starless skies – when Casey can't stay at home because it hurts – and Raph isn't there to bear his painful weight with muscles.

But the phone on his hand appears just as easily as Leo shows up in front of him, a panting mess that adorns his sweaty palms and a toothy smile that only widens when he shakes his shoulders and deliberately winks at Casey, as he passes him KFC take-outs. "You texted, didn't you?"

He's here. He's sticking around. And Casey isn't sure why this surprises him – but it does.

Their knees bump and jerk together while they eat – and Casey can't help but smile despite his gritted teeth – because Leo's hot saucy mouth is scrunched in food and _cuteness_ – and his posture is slumped, the tension that never leaves his body melting and dripping down on the rooftop.

His eyes glance around, shifting, but the breaths he exhales to see them take form in the cold air are warm with feeling – as if he's trying to hide in plain sight from the excuses he makes to sneak away, just so he can, for barely some minutes, find time to breach the surface of obligations, responsibilities and burdens that shadows above him like the veil of an ancient tragedy and gasp for clean air he can only find away from his capital-L Leonardo.

Casey's hands grip the edges of the rood and it buzzes under his grasp – or maybe he imagines it. The trembling continues, but he doesn't protest nor moves – because he gets Leo, he knows. Breaths come easier to him, when he opens up the hidden bottle in his coat and almost throws it towards Leo's side.

The wrinkled nose and pressed, lemon-sucking lips he gets in response are _adorably adorable_ and his narrowed eyes, decorated with the blue, cheeky bandana remind Casey of his grandma's old yoga friends – when they'd lecture him for his dirty, oily hair.

He bits his lip to keep from laughing when Leo makes a face as he sips down right from the bottle seven mouthfuls, the alcohol burning his throat like a cigarette and his mouth smelling like katana steel and fire. "Sorry, Leo, I hafta."

"Ugh," he says with feeling, "You literally don't."

"And yet I literally do," he wiggles his eyebrows semi-suggestively, drinking, and then, with much more seriousness blazing his eyes and a low shrug of the shoulder, "I'm getting cold, '_kay_? Not all of us have the skin of a warrior."

Leo nods, almost solemnly, and there's something missing in his eyes when he stands up, that Casey can't seem to recognize. But his face looks fuller – greener and brighter – and the way he spreads his chest out is not so much in authority as in pleased bliss. Casey thinks he's done well.

"You didn't eat all of it, dude," his smile is sadly loopy, lazy from the alcohol as his head tilts first to Leo's KFC wings, then tips back briefly – it pounds when he tries to hold it up.

Leo drops his gaze on his palm and his eyes rise, fixing some spot down the alley street as he jumps off the roof with the grace of a cat.

Casey's head swirls when he tries to lean forward and squint his eyes in confusion – but his heart tightens when he watches Leo using all the elegantly scary ninja skills that make him what he is and have shaped him into this, to cautiously leave the take-out on a homeless' bench.

He handles the box with care and aliveness as he slips it out of his hands, hanging upside down as he does so.

And Casey's pretty sure his Adam's apple is doing the same jumps around his throat – because he doesn't think he has met someone like this, a person with unadulterated devotion to the same world that has been rough – as gentle and sincere as Casey's sister when she talks about dolphins, ponies, and friendship being magic and something pure flickers in her eyes, like hope and joy.

When Leo has returned, as fast as he left, he kneels next to Casey, arms brushing. His drunken daze tries to follow the shape of him and meet him – and Leo half-smiles as he does, cheeks fondly raising at the corners of his lips.

He places his hands on his knees as he squats beside him, palms turned and open. It's such an innocent gesture, and when he shakes his head warmly, mouth in a thin line, as Casey points with his nose to Leo's scarf and _lack_ of coat – that's perhaps _not-forgotten_ in the alleyway – Casey's heart tightens.

His kindness still hurts, sometimes.

"It's not much," he starts, interpreting his wordless commentary, "but it – it feels right, y'know?"

His hand moves to take Casey's gloved one and grips it, for the shortest of moments, as if he's hoping he'll make sense, his emotions will travel through his fingers and drip on the tips of Casey's, waiting for him to explore them.

Casey thinks of the hand on his – the hand that can handle all pain and war – a hand that _is_ a weapon – heavy and pebbled, raspy to touch, yet, big enough to carry the whole world, and maybe Casey's heart – and he smiles back, fully and yawnily.

He hopes his smile isn't lost between the idiotically silly expressions that the alcohol manages to force out of his body and his eyes flutter shut before he can see a change on Leo's features, see them soften for him and sharpen for the world around them as his arms draw a bubble around them.

Those same arms wrap his body gingerly as Leo lifts him over his shoulder and hops around rooftops so fast, like Casey is nothing but a weightless rag doll on his muscles.

His feet make sounds like tires when he stops at Casey's stupidly small room balcony and they gravel while he lowers Casey carefully next to the banister.

His eyes snap open, but they are unfocused and dizzily bleak as they agonize to name the things he sees around him. Leo's face is blurry in front of him when he ducks his head to speak lowly to him, as if he's one of his brothers – someone he loves.

"Thanks for the fun evening, Casey. Good night," he murmurs, cupping Casey's cheek in his hand, running his fingers on it, and before the touch can fly away, Casey catches his wrist in a rushed, alcoholically-driven, imbecile movement, canting his head to lean into the touch soothingly.

The whole night stills around them, earth stopping and sun waiting on the corner of the deep sky as Leo stands expectantly, staring right into Casey's eyes, endlessly open, and Casey's heart misses a few beats.

His mind and body are begging him to make a move – his head swimming into a fancy cocktail of fuzzy feelings and slurring words that flash around him, and Casey is torn – between telling him to stay here, invite him in his bed and his embrace or plead him to take him with him, down in the lair, where breathing doesn't hurt and they can take hot baths together to heal the cold, the scars and their hearts.

He wants to sing him sappy melodies from the Disney movies he watches with his sister, drawl out his affection and love for him, praise and hold him for helping others simply because it should be done, and because it is the right thing to do, without shreds of doubt or hesitation, make him promise he'll try to help _him_ and swear he'll do the same in return – wants to tell him that he understands, now, why Mikey calls him a superhero, and Raph and Donnie laugh – but never in mockery.

His mouth is cowardly traitorous, though, as Casey recoils slightly from his hand, lifts his eyes from where they've wandered on Leo's lips back to his eyes and tosses an apologetic glance, mouth crooked awkwardly.

"K, g'nite," he says through pressed teeth and shuts his eyes tight in guilt before Leo can see the shame and disappointment gleaming in them – or the truth and strip him bare.

But the only thing he hears is Leo chuckle, a rumbled, light-hearted sound that echoes around the air and seeps into his ears as languid heat suddenly envelopes him. By the time he's gone, Casey has dived into his bed, Leo's scarf still surrounding him with his smell and warmth.

* * *

The next time he tries to reach the lair, shivering with the cold, hands tucked in his puffer jacket and bandana icy to his forehead, Raph corners him before he can get in, lips curled.

Casey's panting breath turns hitched and sharp when Raph holds a phone in front of his face – twirling it lazily but slowly enough so he can see – it's Casey's text to Leo.

Before he can articulate a word, utter something that most probably is bound to _be beyond lame_ – Raph opens an arm big enough for Casey, drags him in and presses him to his plastron – hard and gentle, just like him – brushing their foreheads together in familiarly foreign gesture.

"_Thank_ you. He could do much worse than a freezing popsicle," he mutters in Casey's hair, barely more audible than a sigh and Casey closes his eyes, hugging back just as hard and giggling soundly.

"Leo'll _kill_ you if he sees you with his phone, and just so ya know, I ain't stopping him, meathead."

"If you hurt 'im, _I'll_ kill you."

* * *

**A/N: So, what happens next? ;D**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Extremely small update :/ Sorry for being super late, but things are extremely busy and hard irl, and I'm just projecting myself on my writing XD**

**Enjoy the chapter and any comments are welcomed^^; tw: mild descriptions of panic attack.**

* * *

"**Hanging By A Moment."**

**It starts fairly innocent at first, just the faintest brush of Leo's lips against his cheek. He doesn't even notice it, but Casey does, and the blush has reached his ears by the time the feeling's gone. Or – five times Leo kissed Casey, and one time Casey kissed him back.**

* * *

_I'm livin' for the only thing I know  
I'm running here and I'm not quite sure  
Where to go?  
And down I know I'd like to be in tune  
Just hanging by a moment here with you  
I'm falling even more in love with you  
Letting go of all I've held onto  
I'm standing here until you make me move  
I'm hanging by a moment here with you_

* * *

There are other days when things aren't so bright, but they darken, creep around them and lurk there – in the stark blackest parts of their souls.

Casey's been through this before – knows the feeling of a wretched throat and swelled up eyes very well, can figure it out clenching in his chest and squirming in his hands.

And Leo is _so_ good – and the good ones, they always seem to break, badly.

Leonardo trembles as he holds him, breathing hard, and Casey tries to stop the buzz, but his ears are ringing in the effort. He's mumbling, words that leave out of his mouth tumbling out, scattered thoughts that don't seem to make sense against the innocence that is Leo's room.

The lamp on his nightstand is bent and crooked – broken, and the light reflects the ugly angles of the bedroom as Leo pants, head shaking and throat closing – "I'm sorry, I'm _sorry_, _sorry_."

His sheets are crumpled, Space Heroes poster torn off the door, the remaining in front of Casey's feet, just right there.

His muscles ache when he lifts Leo's shivering body, dragging it on the bed, and flopping right next to it, pressing against him and grasping the proximity like a souvenir in his heart.

Casey doesn't have the words, can't make out the picture, the knots of the ropes that tighten in him, keeping him upright. He wishes, partially, Leo's brothers were here – because they would know what to do.

Leo's still jerking beside him, sharp, irregular breaths and as Casey inhales and exhales slowly, hoping Leo will follow, he's becoming the moment and knows why it's him that's here.

"S'okay," he murmurs when Leo has stopped trembling, listening carefully to the weak sounds that leave his mouth and letting his chest thump with hurt. "You ain't here to prove shit to anyone. There's no one keeping score, no one scoffing at every step, or judging – _breathe_. You're _so_ strong."

"It's okay not to be okay," he says at last, and when Leo's head turns and he meets the glistening void of his blue eyes, he wonders how emptiness can be so very heavy.

Leo nods, cheeks hollowing. "I'm not okay," he whispers, barely more than a breath.

His voice is hoarse, tone torn and tattered. Naked with so much of everything that Casey's heart throbs like a bruise.

"Tell me what you want."

And the answer is very obvious, glowing mutely just beneath Leo's red-rimmed eyes, as his head tilts to Casey's shoulder, words slow and quiet. "Just s – stay here."

"I promise," he swears, firmly. And he nods, holding his breath as he watches a wave of fat tears rippling his eyes and blurring his vision. Leo tries to wipe them away with fidgeting hands, and before Casey can move away to give him space, Leo's face drops on the crook of his neck.

Casey says nothing, lets Leo empty all the hurt built inside him, leaning against his shoulder and wetting the collar of his shirt. When Leo's tears finally dry, his cheeks taut and his eyes stinging, Casey swallows hard, and wipes his snot away, not once complaining.

It reminds him of the moments he used to soothe his sister's sniffles with pepper kisses and gentle fingers. The protective feeling bubbles inside of him like a balloon and he sighs, in relief and hurt, as Leo leans closer, deep sobs widening in between his nose.

The sound breaks his heart.

His hand moves, bumping on soft blankets, hard mattress and pebbled flesh before brushing Leo's, lacing their fingers together beneath and above everything, warm and low.

He squeezes Leo's large palm, unsure of how it fits with his, and certain that he has no intention of letting go. "You're home," he says softly, and taps his heart with his free hand.

"_Casey_," Leo huffs, as if that is all he has to say, his voice a warm, breathless rumble against Casey's neck. Leo pushes himself nearer, nuzzling closer and grazing his lips fervently there, and he kisses him, till he falls asleep.

Casey's heart thuds.

Too much, never enough and just right, that Casey's eyelids droop, body loosening in the scalding heat the bed and Leo's sweaty body provide. He allows Leo's sweet, soft snores drown in his ears like a lullaby.

"_Casey_."

He's aware of beds creaking, floorboards whispering and tries to get himself together – sends waves of affection to his sister. He hates leaving her alone, just as helpless as – but in times like this –

"_Casey_."

He curls against Leo, his insides collapsing desperately as his heart beats against his throat. It's like he's floating away from all bad places, seems like it.

And it just seems, because he can never run away, truly. Because he is the bad place and that's inescapable. And that feeling perhaps, doesn't change when he's here – it doesn't get forgotten.

But it only gets larger and higher, and visible, just within his sight that the glass barrier among all of it no longer fogs or cracks.

Leo hums in his sleep, lips puffing and brows furrowing – forcibly, silly, but steady. The pain is a weeping, pathetic thing, hammering on his heart, but Casey embraces it, their fingers still tangled together.

He struggles to fathom how Leo is able to be so unfairly cute, struggles to forget the feeling of his lips on his neck, because it is not the right time, not like this – struggles to understand and answer all the _why's_ that circle him when Leo's walls fall, shattering the solid ground, struggles to grasp Leo's _struggle_ – but if there's one thing he knows, is that he doesn't have to, really.

He only needs to here.

He holds Leo, stays there, and understands. For a moment, he's finally not looking for answers anymore – to anything. It's the most peaceful sleep either of them has ever got.

And when Casey needs a shoulder to cry on, Leo's, silently, got one to offer, with eyes that speak – "_You're strong, too_."

And Casey doesn't know why it makes him sob, and hold and hope, but it does – and this kind of feeling is inescapable, too.


	4. Chapter 4

"**Hanging By A Moment."**

**It starts fairly innocent at first, just the faintest brush of Leo's lips against his cheek. He doesn't even notice it, but Casey does, and the blush has reached his ears by the time the feeling's gone. Or – five times Leo kissed Casey, and one time Casey kissed him back.**

* * *

_I'm livin' for the only thing I know  
I'm running here and I'm not quite sure  
Where to go?  
And down I know I'd like to be in tune  
Just hanging by a moment here with you  
I'm falling even more in love with you  
Letting go of all I've held onto  
I'm standing here until you make me move  
I'm hanging by a moment here with you_

* * *

"Hey cookie," Casey says by a way of greeting, once he has made himself home at their kitchen. His bag is already abandoned on the old, plushy chair they keep reserved for his grandma – even after her death.

His sister perks up from where she's sited on the counter and waves him a hand decorated with colorful markers. If he's honest, though, the grin she offers him, can easily put the shiny colors to shame.

It's a knee-jerk reaction when he plants a kiss on the top of her head and smiles back, "What's up?"

"I'm drawing!" The piece of paper she lifts is evidence on its own, and Casey has to squint closer to get a good look. His eyes are becoming worse as time passes.

"I can see that," he tells her in a light-hearted tone, "Who's that?"

He points to a certain figure on the paper, before opening the fridge door. The sight that greets him isn't impressive, but also isn't unsurprising. It's packed to the fullest with drinks and beers, bottles with pretty brand names and mostly half-empty.

He allows himself a small sigh, as he slams the door shut.

It has been overly interesting these years, to observe how his father can turn the good days bad, the way he has found himself sinking at the bottom of a bottle every other day, as if drowning is the only way he can breathe.

He's been a witness to everything – the episodes, the tippy-toes pantomimes of shame, the relentless sorry's and repetitive relapses – and he's made sure his sister never has a reason to.

His father lost a wife, Casey lost a mother, but he feels like he's been robbed of both parents.

He isn't sure what he is more afraid of, his sister being refrained from a childhood that is by now a lost cause, or himself turning into the man who holds the reins of his mind already, the firefighter whose long-lost flame caused him to simply stop fighting.

For one thing Casey's certain of, though – he cannot give up the fight, not just yet. No matter the burn that overpowers him in his chest.

When his sister's face lights up at his question, he knows the only possible reaction he can give her back is to wrap a hand around her shoulders, leaning against the counter – and stealing a sip from her chocolate milk.

The playful glare she tosses in response has a place on her face for only half a second, before her expression shifts to excitement, vibrant and clear – always a mother's daughter.

"Oh, that's me!" she exclaims and Casey frowns at the stick figure – maybe she didn't inherited everything from their mother, "And this is Aesha, and we're walking on the playground together," she points to the other stick figure that's being adorned with over-the-top brown hair and a generous amount of purplish glitter.

"Do you like it?" Her wide eyes are practically asking for teasing – and Casey has never backed out from a challenge.

"Nah," he says flatly, "I love it" he adds brightly, sleeping neighbors be damned and his sister's hunched shoulders puff all the way up to the tips of her ears just like her smile.

It's effectively contagious and Casey mirrors the grin, ruffling her braids for good measure till she shakes out of his hand giggling.

"Awesome!" It's truly fascinating, how her smile can just manage to broaden even more. The contrast is evident, when she drops her eyes on the paper, focusing on drawing the pink clouds, pursed lips unreadable.

"I really like it," she shrugs, like a passing comment, but he's known her for a life, and that gives him a solid head start to the tentative edge lingering in her tone. He waits, for her shake, taking chocolate milk mouthfuls she now seems not to notice.

"Holding hands with Aesha, I mean," she elaborates and levels him a look full of knowing hesitation. The hand drawing has stopped long ago, the restless kicking of her legs only furthering his mouth dry.

_Oh_.

"You do?" He asks airily, eyes shifting – the way Leo and Donnie behave, indifferently open, when they want Mikey to give in their questions, building the free space to do so, accordingly.

And Casey follows their example, because his sister's face reflects his heart, in the manner close-raised buddies can achieve, and he wants her to talk to her part confidant part therapist patient, equally devotedly inexperienced.

"Uh-huh," comes the soft-spoken reply, along with a toothy grin.

"Miss Cece says that if you're holding hands with someone, it means they're very special, 'cause hands are doors to the soul," she says like a rehearsed speech, eyes nonetheless bright, like most nine-year olds do, subconsciously borrowing green-light patterns and sewing them to fit themselves – to justify their actions.

"Poetic, I have to say. Sounds nice," his smile is easy to prompt her own pleased reaction. Her glee basically takes up her pointed cheeks, as she gazes the picture in her hands proudly, smiling dreamily.

"We're gonna live together when we grow up, and it's fair, 'cause girls are _so much better_! Sometimes, I want to hold hands with Aesha all the time. Her hands are _so soft_, Casey!" At that, he laughs good-naturedly, a sound she mimics immediately, before muttering, "Is that weird?"

Casey doesn't know how to answer without being the complete hypocrite, amateur gay he is. He indulges in a crooked thing of an expression, because that's what he can manage for now.

It almost feels like an anecdote – a gays assemble, double sibling coming out over spilled chocolate milk across the wooden kitchen.

He's not quite sure of his face, because his sister is looking at him suspiciously, eyes interrogating him like the stuffed animals she sends to prison when they break stuffed animal-laws.

"Do you – do _you_ have someone you like to hold hands with?" she asks, sharp, full of knowing, like the million dollar question it is and when Casey huffs an embarrassed noise, she almost screeches.

He scoots closer, popping her on his legs with vengeance, raining kisses all over. "Y'know, there is someone," he trails off jokingly against her hair and she hums, muffled in his chest and more than less unsurprised.

"Really?"

_It's his sister _– is the reason he gives himself for spilling his love-struck guts out like an imbecile. Is this how Mikey always seems to hold a secret or two over his brothers' heads like coy blackmail?

In his sister's defense, she sits and listens to him like a loyal fan, oohing and aahing at certain points, melting Casey's weight on his chest like chestnut ice cream.

He doesn't know where to start, swiftly avoiding matters of appearance because his sister is not ready for it as much as he isn't.

He paints Leo, though, as what he is – a hero.

He constructs his acts of glory fumblingly; stories of Leo secretly feeding the homeless, gracefully helping sad kids find their mothers, making sure the water runs hot once Casey claims he's heading to the lair showers, having arms that big that can fit everyone without an ounce of doubt.

And she listens with such excitement, no bratty envy whatsoever, which would be much understandable, looking happy he's happy and at that, Casey knows he now really owes her so much more than simple happiness.

Towards the end, he's slowly becoming more ridiculous, drooling over Leo's Colgate smiles, pretty eyes, white freckles and hard muscles.

He chases bad guys, he says, and in all honesty, he means it in more ways than one.

_It means they're very special._

And he was, oh, how he was.

"Oh, wow," his sister exclaims at last. She doesn't ask questions, only bumps his arms with her small fists, imitating bro-codes adorably. He softens for her in a heartbeat. "He's so – wow!" she says again, firm in her remark and means it wholeheartedly.

It does a funny, relieving thing in his heart, a wholly acceptance, too truthfully sweet for the rest of the world.

He can read her face, _My brother's boyfriend's a fighter_, and he's already braced himself for endless teasing, when it comes to him – and high praise, when it comes to wow-Leo.

He would be jealous if he didn't agree.

"Sure, that's one way of putting it," he sounds cheeky despite the blush flushing his cheeks, but he'd be able to sound cheeky in his deathbed, "Shi – Shoot, you gotta see him laugh, he laughs with his whole body! And he has the coolest fighting moves, _and_ _man_, _oh_, when he makes faces in the mirror and thinks nobody's looking, he's – he's just – he _is_. The guys – his brothers – they call him boring and stuff, but –"

"You don't think he's boring?"

"He's just a more private and silent type of guy. Still fu – freaking amazing," he smiles faintly, more to himself. "Sometimes we don't even hafta talk to get each other. I never had something so – so quiet be so _great_."

_He_ is so damn great.

He knows something unsure flits across his face, beneath the dark bangs because his sister pushes the dry drawing forward the microwave oven, before jumping expectantly on him – a protest to tumble him out of insecurities.

It's still fresh, he guesses, the underlying tension between him and Leo, but the outcome of it, mellow in its nature, leaves him breathless, pushes him deeper.

He's fairly accustomed to the chaotic loudness or ghosted misery of his life, that the shimmering buddiness of _their_ life is foreign – in a good way. A way he can get used to because it's Leo that is with him.

Yeah, he can grow to love it – it's not a first-time for him, besides.

"I dunno if I even ever had that something," he looks up, smiling and catches the movement of his sister's lips flicking with bubbling awe.

"Then you'd better not lose it," she says, eyes wise beyond her years.

"You're right, bud," he smothers a hand through her hair and lifts himself up and towards the phone and pizza delivery numbers. Pepperoni, maybe?

"Yeah! I was sad when I lost Baby Shark, remember?"

"I do, sweetie," he nods affectionately, with a shaking head to accompany him, as he looks through the pizzas. Pepperoni, it is.

"When can I meet him?" she asks, unperturbed by the manner Casey tenses. She inches the end of her skirt, grin glowing. "Can I meet him?" she continues, guilelessly, "When things are good? I want to meet him!"

His heart aches, brows furrowing at the perky desperation in her voice, the purity that is her request.

She wants to meet him, and it makes Casey stand still and look hopeless, because his sister has funky morning braids _he_ learned how to do, bracelets she makes _herself_, a love for sci-fi cartoons and tea parties, and a heart too big to deserve half the tornados that whoosh against them.

Perhaps Casey did, but not her.

He spares a long-suffering glance to his dad's room. _When things are good?_ Something painful blooms inside Casey's chest, an ache sharper than what he's been used to, and he guesses it's only fitting, because ever since getting a taste of what he never had, he can't possibly go back.

"'Course. You should," he says, quietly, unregistered by her, and it's the kind of fierce promise he's keen on keeping like a lifesaver.

"Do you kiss – 'cause, blergh, Casey," she rolls, her eyes slyly, spreading her hands apologetically.

But she isn't very apologetic at all, and it probably shows on her snarky face if Casey's scowl is anything to go by.

So much for being a good brother. "My kisses aren't blergh!"

"Help me finish my drawing!" she shouts either way, with a smile in return, and her scraped knees wobble as she reaches for his hand to get off the counter. His hands are full of glitter glue in under a second and he complies with raised brows.

Her smile morphs into snorted laughter, sure enough, at the drop of a hat. "And yeah, they are!"

"Well," he grins widely, and the force of it crinkles his eyes as he gives her the owl face – their mom's favorite, a sort of ritual inheritance for them, "too bad for you, then."

"Wha – Hey, Casey! Ew, gross!" Another peal of laughter bursts from his lips when Casey's fingers dig into her sides and he sprays kisses.

When he slips away from her hug to make the much-needed pizza phone call, he takes one last look as his sister finishes up her drawing with a tune, and an unconscious smile tugs the corners of his mouth.

"Y'know, you're even more wow," she says, fond and certain, and Casey, eyes watered, figures he must be doing something right, after all – and that he can, truly, do something even braver sooner than later – because his sister only believed in fighters.

When his mother got sick, she had told him to keep his chest high and his heart higher, and even though he had claimed to be a big boy and understood it, it's only now that he sees the meaning – and what it actually means for him.

He confides his plans in Leo, unsurely, exchanging late-night phone calls with him that turn much too easily into lair and patrol conversations and bleeding feelings over tea cups.

His voice holds a comfort, a building certainty that is most probably all his – whenever he finds the courage to open the issue and drop it just as suddenly.

Leo meets his sister through his words, talks to her over the phone (ridiculous discussions and fairytale-like eagerness that leave trails of something too tender deep in Casey's chest), lends her his comics and Space Heroes video tapes and his smile whenever he speaks of her borrows the same, well-meant affection Casey only has reserved for her.

Leo makes his way into her heart the way he did to him, quite effortlessly because he isn't planning to back out. He loves her enough to know what Casey has to do and the reason why.

And Casey, he's still a kid, struggling through university assignments, buying art supplies, fighting super villains with only a hockey stick, a strong spray can and a stronger will. He made it his business, because he could and that was the only way he could get close enough to what he felt as justice.

But now, he finally knows the fire camped in his heart, burning his insides out, is the strength he needs to do the impossible. He can, and all the misplaced, childish hesitation can get the fuck out of there – because Leo, wrapped arms and armored chest, is the fuel.

His smiles mend and warm his heart more than his father's drunken daze can break it. It's good enough of a sign.

Casey's battle isn't one Leo is obligated to face, but with the manner he looks at him, certain in his ways like Donnie, untamed in his eyes like Raph, pure in all that's worth like Mikey, he seems ready to jump into war for him regardless.

Fuck if that just doesn't make him cry.

"I think I can do this," Casey says, and Leo's steeled eyes, filled with brimming relief, agree firmly.

"I know you can."

He has decided – he can't let his world keep crumbling down.

* * *

"Are you sure about this?" his father asks, walking through his room as he packs. His eyes are rounder than he has ever seen them and Casey guesses it's the first time in months that he has seen him sober.

He nods silently, filling his suitcase with hockey equipment and baggy clothes, breaking the eye contact. It's bizarre how it's scarier to see him sane than drunk.

"I know what I'm doing," he says curtly, tilting his head to his desk so that his father can pass him the picture frame of them. He sighs as he does so.

"I'm sorry," the declaration is met with wide eyes that don't soften the slightest when his father continues, heavy and quiet, his wrinkles twitching. "I know why you're doing this. I just hope you _can_ do it."

There's a wound running on the side of his neck that Casey remembers having noticed when he was a kid. He recalls the way his father had smiled when he had pointed at it, reciting a miracle-like story, circled with fire and devotion. "_Just another scar to wear with pride_."

The scar today looks faded and old, like a torn photo that has reserved a place to Casey's selling move-out boxes. The room feels less suffocating now that his stuff are gone – more open and free, and so does he.

The stars on the ceiling are still up, and he's waiting for his sister to hang them down. It's a moment for the two of them, only. When his eyes travel from the ceiling back to his father's face, he seems like he's looking for an answer. And Casey knows that, because he has been looking for answers his whole life.

He thinks of everything he has done, everything that has happened, good and bad, all leading up to this moment so many years later, too many years – silent and triumphant.

"I can, and I will. I'm not you," his face is sharp, tongue thick with venom, and the angles in his stomach burn. But he doesn't regret it.

The next day, a few hours before his sister and him leave, he realizes his father has left a chain on the couch where his suitcases rest. It's bronzed and still shiny, a small photo of his mother adorning the inside of its lock – and a part of Casey's heart melts – but he does not forgive.

His hand trembles when he guides his sister to the front door of his mother's old friend's house. Her home is huge and empty, but her heart feels full with the way she hugs Casey and murmurs in his hair and the manner she smiles when she shows his sister her new room.

"I wish this could've happened sooner. It _should_ have. Your mother would be so proud," she coos, almost scolds herself, with tears lingering in her eyes and hands busy with the childish jewelry-making machine his sister has brought with her, and Casey can't help but smile back, genuinely.

His hand trembles when he drops his bags, falling on the sofa of the apartment April and her friend, Kendra share.

Casey _adores_ Kendra on the spot, down to their leather boots; they are fun, play the drums and know how to change light bulbs – the coolest microbiology major he has ever met.

Their first night together, they tidy up Casey's stuff, eat cookie dough and watch the only _Black Mirror_ episode that has a happy ending.

Casey's eyes are closing, but he manages to crack them open for a second, to look at April's fond glance and return it earnestly. "I'm glad it's all over," he gives her a toothy grin that stays plastered on his face much longer than he expected, when April responds with an equally easy smile, arm casually draped around Kendra.

"No, Casey, nothing's over. This is finally where you start."

His hand trembles when he explains why he was gone for two and a half weeks to his brothers, and their hugs are just as warm and powerful as their eyes. He doesn't feel like he's on solid ground, but it's the first time he feels like he can breathe, so he guesses walking steadily will come so much easier.

Leo reaches his hand, as to confirm this, and squeezes it once – to stop the shaking – his features softening lightly when he talks, and it seems like it's on behalf of everybody. "That's amazing. _You're_ amazing."

But Casey can recognize the hidden meaning under his little smile and lightly blushed cheeks, and he winks slightly, along with a slow-spreading smirk, to cover the beating of his heart.

Besides, he's sort of the cause.

Casey doesn't think his problems were magically solved by Leo's affection, and he trusts his strengths, but he would lie if he said that he didn't feel light just because of Leo and his brothers simply believing it – and him – and in him.

It doesn't take much for Leo wink back to burst into laughter – and, holy shit, does he _glow_.

"Oh, dude," he utters instead, disappointed, "Here I thought you'd last longer."

Leo chokes under his breath, briefly and embarrassingly, as the other nudge and tease playfully, jumping on the opportunity, but Casey, as he watches the way Leo levels him the most endearingly deadpanned stare, finds it impossible for his heart to slow down.

Oh, man, he's got is _so_ bad.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for the delay. Sometimes I get so anxious that things I usually enjoy like writing make me terribly sick and I just have to take break before I drown in stress. Enjoy nonetheless! :)**

**More chapters coming when I feel like it again ****that will include the actual pairing in the tags instead of just snippets of it. XD**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Normally I wouldn't update a story with a short and very vague chapter, but I'm gradually working myself back to writing with baby steps so that's kinda nice. Also, if I didn't post this, I'd probably have a new chapter up by 2022.**

* * *

"**Hanging By A Moment."**

**It starts fairly innocent at first, just the faintest brush of Leo's lips against his cheek. He doesn't even notice it, but Casey does, and the blush has reached his ears by the time the feeling's gone. Or – five times Leo kissed Casey, and one time Casey kissed him back.**

* * *

_I'm livin' for the only thing I know  
I'm running here and I'm not quite sure  
Where to go?  
And down I know I'd like to be in tune  
Just hanging by a moment here with you  
I'm falling even more in love with you  
Letting go of all I've held onto  
I'm standing here until you make me move  
I'm hanging by a moment here with you_

* * *

In Casey's view, the first date he'd ask Leo out, gathering up the courage (It's not like his your cousin, April says and Casey realizes they have been watching too many sitcom reruns), would be pretty fucking incredible.

He'd put on a show, a ring-in-the-champagne trick, organize nice picnic on a roof – maybe the one above Joseph's house who shoots stupid fireworks every other day he passes a pop quiz, and the sparks would mingle in Leo's eyes, leaning closer to kiss him silly.

The fireworks wouldn't be so stupid, not anymore.

He's absolutely positive to say that he did not imagine Leo's brothers begging him late at night, pleading him to follow Leo as he went up North Hampton – and he's sure that it does not count as a date, not when there are long drives and dead dads involved.

He accepts Casey in the Party Wagon with a shrug of the shoulder, lets him drive and gladly turns up the volume on the radio when Casey claims he loves the song playing.

"Didn't your brothers want to come?' Casey asks, eyes on the road, but Leo is staring outside the passenger's window, hands braced on his knees.

"No, they told me it'd be better if I went alone," he says automatically and Casey can easily pick up the tired annoyance in his tone and the faux rigidness creeping under it.

"That's good."

There is a knot in his throat, underlying pressure with nowhere to go. Leo has been cold for weeks and his brothers are worried, that Casey can understand – and relate to.

And it hurts to stay silent and unperturbed, when his own walls are being crushed apart, bit by painful bit and Leo's ice barely melts before camping in his face and heart.

He reverts into a distant, unmoved version of himself, yet in the seat next to his, he seems small and miles away. Casey doesn't want to press himself closer to Leo if it appears like he's holding him by the pieces because it's what both Leo and his family did while he broke down, unapologetically and needy.

He likes to think there's more to it.

"It's fine," Leo lies dully. "I guess they feel like I needed a babysitter, too," he adds, too pointedly.

He huffs a strained laugh, dusted with lines of bitterness and Casey takes a hand off the steering wheel and roughly grips the one Leo has on his knee, tangling their fingers with familiar grace, caressing the wrapped knuckles.

The radio plays a slow song now, air-conditioner set on dimly low coolness, but the air feels warm between them, with a trace of static.

"No, Leo," Casey whispers, words whirling, "you know it's not like that."

Leo does know, he guesses, but it's easier to continue looking outside at the trees and say nothing.

Casey gets that.

The weather is gloomy dark, promise of rain lingering in the air and Leo stays calm in his manners, parking them and stepping out, gaze fixed on the grey stone below the oak tree.

Their father loved trees.

He kneels on the grass and swallows hard enough for Casey to hear, as he sinks next to him, eyes shifting to watch the tautness of Leo's muscles while he mumbles under his breath.

The sky booms once and crickets make their way, running urgently between green, all while bird chirps.

Leo seems like he's not in a hurry, though. He looks perfectly comfortable on his knees, head low and jaw unhinged.

It makes Casey uneasy to be present in a moment like this, too invading and unsure of how to react, what kind of soft reply to give to a heart that is not whole anymore.

He has been doing a fine job so far, taking up short-live activities to put out the fire that is burning inside his throat.

He hasn't called his father, and his hands feel prickly thinking about it, because Leo is sitting right beside him, elbows inside and a lump of hardness even further inside – but Casey doesn't even call his father when he can, since he's selfish like that.

He's heard the stories of happy couples facing break-ups, or terrible deaths that make their friends stand still and wonder the fate of themselves, turn their eyes in the corners of their minds till they get dizzy in guilt, and now he feels that sickening emotion curling in his stomach.

Lightings spread briefly and fade away in the gradual darkness of the sky as Leo lifts his head ever so slightly. He doesn't keep track of him staring and moves a gentle hand to rub away the puffed bushes from where his father's picture rests.

His fingers stay a bit longer on the frame, caressing it tenderly, the way one day he might kiss him like, face grief-stickered, an expression Casey could never hold for his father, not quite like that.

That's how he knows it's not the same, but the feeling doesn't lessen in the admission. Where he struggles to feel for his father, Leo blooms of thoughts tainted with a heart, a storm too loud for his head.

And Casey somehow understands it, in his way. He's lived in precipices for so long, the steady ground makes him suffer, but nobody would comprehend the qualms and fears of a life that's worth living, except himself, because his father could pick put the phone instead and call.

But he hasn't.

"It's okay, y'know," he whispers to Leo when the first drops fall on his cheeks and trail down his jaw like tears, "to be scared of it – of death."

Leo nods solemnly, the hand thumbing lightly the pretty picture running through the moist grass to lace its fingers with his in the same fondness. He presses tightly, and Casey feels his heart clenching.

"Sometimes, I think that's the problem," he admits, softly against the loudness of the sky above them, "That I'm not. I don't care about that."

There's a terrific amount of defeat and surety in his tone, his voice carrying the well-known leader posture he adopts when he needs to shut off and hide behind a sheepish flint.

It cuts Casey like nothing else. He wishes he could slip inside Leo's mind, figure out the way his wires are wearing out.

He's afraid of doing so – because that's what has been happening the whole damn time, people he admires for their proud chest and loves cracking under the weight while he's helplessly watching.

He can stand beside him, he'd do it in a heartbeat, he'd want to, _so much_, but not if there's the possibility of Leo losing control, with no intention of ever getting it back. And that's asshole-y and it hurts, but if Leo doesn't make a move, he won't either.

No matter how much it aches him to cradle his heart from afar.

His throat burns like he's fourteen again, smoking behind the school bathrooms, because he has a dead mom and that's enough of a reason.

The raindrops are slowly draining, like the clouds fight to keep their eyes shut and the sky darkens wakefully deeper.

Leo squeezes his palm, his fingers tugging as he spares a glance at their tangled hands, green and pink and more rugged than that graved stone.

"I still think I don't know what it means," he sighs, shifting poorly in his hand, before his eyes fall to the grass underneath them, as if looking at the grave will vivaciously lead him to the void, "To be human."

Oh, _crap_.

And Casey mentally slaps himself. He has been immensely stupid to think Leo could ever be compared to his father – he would never question his humanity – bashfully darting closer till their thighs are pressed, in an one-sided apology he owes him earnestly.

The rain has fully stopped now and Casey waits some seconds, for the sake of feeling Leo against him, his skin rubbing his through his clothes, the hardness of his shell and the scent in the crook of his neck, familiarly in everything that's everything about Leo.

His name won't leave the same, bitter taste in his mouth that he prized from his father and he hates himself for having and daring to even think about it, but he knows the guy kneeled next to him would want him to – Leo wouldn't be Leo if he didn't want the best for everyone, worrying by default.

"Whatever, Leo," he snaps bluntly, in the sharp kindness he offers rarely.

Leo's eyes lock on his in an instant, wide in questionable surprise, and that almost makes Casey stop – he's so _pretty_ under the sky he wants to kiss him badly– brows crumpling, but almost, because his voice doesn't waver when he continues, something akin to growing numbness marching on his chest.

"You're not human. Most of the world isn't," he mutters candidly and maybe that's the right thing to say. They've had a taste of the world. It's not for them.

Leo's features relent slightly, softening as his lips curl in the most inhumanly perfect way, impossible to actually be his to drool on like an idiot, and that's enough of an indication.

Leo drawls a noise from the back of his throat, wretched in its nature and leans against his shoulder.

Right away, Casey understands, so concretely it startles him to the bones, but it would take a forced separation and a total ten-year amnesia on top of that to rub out the footprint of Leo's soul on his heart.

He wraps an arm around him tentatively. And he has to struggle for a moment against the bubbling impulse to reach out faster and snatch him harder in his embrace. But he doesn't.

Leo certainly appreciates the gesture, or probably not-gesture. "_Dammit_," he sobs once, and the sound of it tears viciously against Casey's heart and he trembles the way embarrassment shakes through Leo's body as he cries.

Leo is languid next to him, light in all the places where his father is dark, so he holds him and lets his cheek sink to rest on Leo's pebbled, bald head and nuzzle him there.

"Stay," Leo pleads moments later, urgent as his fingers grip Casey's hand, face a mess of half-dried tears. He rumbles deep in his chest, as if forcing more tears out of him, straining unbearably his throat.

The pain thudding in his heart is too blaring, banging in his ears and Casey presses his lips into a thin line, trying not to give in the urge of beating himself up.

"Don't insult me," he tells him, firmly – how could Casey ever think of walking out? – and Leo tenses at the tone.

When he glances from his shoulder, face wide like a child who saw the stars for the very first time, Casey's mouth lifts at the fragility in his strength.

In the future, he's not certain they will keep up with this. They're not tamed, the edges of them will force them to hurt each other soon and the mess will root in both of their hearts.

But damn, he will try to stop the smolder from falling off the cliff, even if he has to use his body.

He's not fourteen anymore, he's run out of excuses.

Leo's eyes linger on him still, so he gives the look he safe-locks for his sister, an expression impossibly caring, rough on the creeks, as close to love as he's capable of yet.

"I'm here," he softens to see the lovely sprinkles of gratefulness flash across Leo's face, but only because the lump in his throat battles with his bravery, rendering him unable of saying, _I'll leave you when I die._

"Let's go inside," Leo says, voice hoarse with leftover pain. He has pulled himself back together, leaning on nothing like it's always been that way and his face relents in warmth.

Casey would refuse under other circumstances, would say no, let him stay out longer – he can see the slight tremor still hanging on Leo's hands.

But he also finds the look in his eyes, tired, soft and perhaps for once, patiently at peace.

Casey is not repaying back a favor, his heart isn't acting up on theatrics and guilt. There _is_ more to them.

If he could, he'd give him everything. He simply doesn't have the heart to deny him.


End file.
